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The Stark by Dscot

I do not own this story.

CH16

Floating above the city of Qarth, moonlight streamed through the window of my ship, casting a soft glow on the room. I took a sip of the steaming hot cocoa, its warmth providing comfort amidst the late-night meeting. Surrounding me were my trusted officers, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. Together, we huddled over the newly crafted maps that were made during the day as we hovered over the city. I moved a miniature silver cube with a wolf head embossed on it, representing my elite special forces, to the outline of a Villa, the rumored house of the newly elevated Xaro Xhoan Daxos. I had gathered this information from my captured prisoners.

As we discussed strategies and tactics, I listened intently to the suggestions of my officers. Their collective expertise and insights proved invaluable, and I eagerly incorporated their ideas into our plans for the imminent invasion. We debated the best approach to seize control of the city, weighing the potential risks and rewards. But our discussions didn't stop there. In the midst of our tactical deliberations, we also explored the intricacies of governance, contemplating how to establish order and stability.

I was engrossed in the strategy when my uncle Benjen abruptly interrupted me, his voice laden with urgency. "Nephew, I need to speak to you in private." Looking at him, and then back at my men, I dismiss them, turning my attention solely to Uncle Benjen. Before he could say anything, we were joined moments later by Uncle Ned. "It's about Brandon, Lyanna's son," Benjen said, his tone heavy with concern.

I had spent the day avoiding meeting with Lyanna, for the memories of our past encounters were a bitter pill to swallow. The mere thought of her stirred an irritating sense of betrayal deep within my being, I had gone to great lengths to protect her. I had risked much for her sake, even offering her son a position of importance within my realm, under my protection. I told her that I would legitimize him and name him a Stark. But instead of gratitude, she had chosen to flee, leaving me feeling disrespected and deceived.

I looked at him, puzzled, assuming he was about to tell me that Brandon had been sold into slavery, something I had already suspected. But Benjen, stealing a glance at Ned, continued, "When Lyanna was sold to her master, he purchased Brandon as well, but then sold him to the House of the Undying."

My face blanked as I could feel anger bubbling within me. Over the years, I have collected, and read multiple tomes with knowledge about magical societies, as well as anything to do with the arcane knowledge.

I had spent countless hours researching and studying the ancient texts, hoping to uncover the mysteries surrounding the warlocks. Still, I maintained my blank face, masking the turmoil within me. Ned's inquiry caught me off guard, his voice laced with curiosity. "Leon, you always seem to know what's going on," he said, his eyes searching mine for answers. "And I know you have studied books about the warlocks. What do you know about this House of the Undying? Why would they want Lyanna's son?"

I had to admit, a weariness had settled within me, as I observed Ned. Ned's time in the Eyrie and Kings Landing had transformed him, bringing him closer to the southern culture that I had hoped he would remain distant from. It was a miscalculation on my part to have let him venture so long from the North, believing that his absence would benefit me.

I might have unknowingly pushed him towards the allure of southern culture. In his eyes, I detected a caution, a wariness towards the very essence of the magic that I hold so dear. It was a stark contrast to the admiration that a proper northerner should possess, and it left me disheartened. Despite my reservations, I took a deep breath and prepared to share the secrets I had uncovered, knowing that the likely fate of Brandon was not pleasant.

"Brandon," I said, beginning to twirl a coin between my fingers, "has the ancient blood of House Stark intertwining with House Targaryen." I gazed at my listeners, their curiosity piqued, and I posed a question. "Have you ever heard the age-old adage that proclaims magic in kings' blood?" "It is mostly nonsense, but there is some truth in it." Uncle Ned, with a confused expression, shook his head in the negative, while Uncle Benjen nodded.

"You see," I continued, "throughout history, many ancient ruling families possessed a connection to the mystical arts." Lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts, I absently tapped the coin against my arm rest, its metallic surface gleaming brilliantly under the illumination of the light. " It was said that the warlocks, after the devastating Doom of Valyria, sought to harness the magic of the captured Valyrian bloodlines through dark rituals, extracting life energy from them."

"

Benjen and Uncle Ned exchanged horrified glances at the mere suggestion of Brandon being sacrificed by the House of the Undying. Letting out a heavy sigh, I absentmindedly fiddled with the coin in my hand as I cautiously spoke up. "There's a small glimmer of hope that Brandon might still be alive," I said, my voice tinged with uncertainty. "I haven't been able to uncover much information since the warlocks keep their practices shrouded in secrecy. But some texts suggest that they occasionally keep individuals with magical abilities alive, using them as a source of energy throughout their lifetimes." I grimaced at the grotesque thought but continued, "As horrendous as it sounds, it might just be our chance to save him."

As I stood up, letting my blank mask fall for a second, my voice dripped with a repulsive hatred that manifested in every word I uttered. "I had always planned on coming to Qarth," I confessed, my voice laced with venom, "to annihilate the blight which is the House of the Undying." The mere thought of those warlocks sent hot rage down my chest; "their existence is an abomination that needs to be eradicated." "They pollute magic itself." As we were engrossed in our conversation, Lyanna suddenly burst into the room, her presence both surprising and annoying. Her eyes were filled with a mix of emotions - fear, guilt, desperation and hope.

000

Bluish vapor billowed from my floating ship, casting an eerie spell over the city. The air carried a subtle scent of cinnamon, the only hint at the impending chaos that would soon unfold. It spread like a suffocating blanket, engulfing the sprawling villas of the ruling family. Though our supply was limited, even a mere whiff of the vapor would render them dizzy and nauseous.

As the malevolent blue mist spread through the rest of the city, its tendrils snaking through the streets, it infiltrated the very essence of its unsuspecting inhabitants. Every breath they took, a poisonous kiss from the darkness. I knew our creation was not potent enough to render every soul in the city helpless, but even a mere taste of its would bring forth a relentless onslaught of vertigo and nausea. From my vantage point high above the chaos, aboard my ship, I reveled in the discord below. The symphony of fear and panic, like a crescendo of terror echoing through the night

We patiently bided our time, allowing thirty minutes to pass as we waited for the haze to dissipate. After the gas was distributed, the ship descended from the sky and landed in the vast expanse of sand dunes surrounding the city. The moment had finally arrived, and I eagerly stepped forward to lead my highly trained group of two thousand five hundred troops. All of them were wearing full plate-armor.

As we disembarked from the ship, the intensity in the air was palpable. The soldiers, donned in their impenetrable armor, radiated a sense of excitement and anticipation. With every step, the sand beneath our boots seemed to tremble. The city lay before us, its towering structures and fortified walls seemingly impenetrable.

With my soldiers by my side, we marched forward, our footsteps echoing like thunder in the still night. I had chosen a different section of the wall from when I originally snuck into the city. I commanded the elements, bending earth and stone to my will. With a flick of my wrist, the ground quaked, and a deep trench was carved, revealing the bedrock beneath.

My mastery in transfiguration shone through as I molded the very fabric of reality. The walls shifted, twisted, and reshaped, forming a pathway that led us through the three ringed segmented walls that circled the city.

As I led my men towards the center, where the ruling families lived, we ran across a group of the Civic Guard, with their pathetic bronze armor. They were feeble and disoriented and had succumbed to the intoxicating blue vapors I had unleashed into their midst. Their feeble attempts to hold their long lances and trying to clutch their round shields, were nothing more than futile gestures. I surveyed the scene with a cold, calculated gaze as I watched them struggle to steady their shields and suppress the trembling of their drugged muscles.

With my command, my men advanced and with practiced ease our spears pierced through their feeble armor and uncoordinated defense, shattering their resistance. The sound of steel penetrating metal and flesh, followed by the screams of the dying echoed through the air. As we swiftly rolled over them, leaving nothing but blood stained streets, broken corpses in our wake.

000

I have issued a command that my men have been instructed to ransack every single home in this wretched city. The freemen from each household shall be bound and chained outside their dwelling to be judged. If they resist, they are to be dragged outside and beheaded as an example for their disobedience and defiance. From the ruling families two shall be spared, while the remaining shall face swift execution.

Yet, my insufferable Uncle Ned dares to challenge my authority and question the righteousness of my decree! He incessantly badgers me, imploring that it is unjust to sentence innocent men, women and children to death. Looking at him. Uncle Benjen, on the other hand, remains silent, concealing his true thoughts on the matter. His lack of objection is an attempt to appease me, yet I see through his facade.

In a rare moment of weakness, I have decided to compromise with Uncle Ned, for he is family after all. All the ruling family adults will die, but their children aged 13 and younger shall be spared from the executioner's grasp. Instead, the boys shall be handed over to the Night's Watch, and toil away their days in the frigid, desolate confines of the Wall.

I looked out from a balcony, situated in a building that the ruling council ran the city from . I watched the sun rise above the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the land, the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas of crimson hues. The deep red tones reflected upon the vast expanse of desert sands, giving them reminiscent of blood. In the stillness of the morning, the ancient city of Qarth now lay under my dominion, its people trembling at the consequences of their transgressions toward me. My thoughts turn to the House of the Undying.

Before we had left the ship, I stood before my troops, ensuring that each group of soldiers understood the gravity of my orders about the House of Undying. I emphasized the importance of our mission but also made sure they understood the warning about the warlocks. "Listen closely, my comrades," I began, addressing every soldier, amplifying my voice, so they could hear me. "Under no circumstances should you venture into the treacherous house of the undying!" "Be vigilant!" I urged them, my voice booming like thunder. "If you come across any wretched souls with unnaturally blue lips, sound the alarm immediately!" I cautioned them, fully aware of the cunning and illusionary abilities of our adversaries. "Beware, my friends, for these tricksters will test your mettle. Do not allow their deceit to ensnare you!"

Fortunately the warlocks have chosen to remain within their dark abode. I had my man create makeshift barricades around the tower, preventing anyone from getting in or out. I shall soon descend upon them like a wrathful storm, exacting my vengeance. They shall rue the day they ever dared to touch or harm those who have my blood.

000

It has been nine days since I have seized control of this city. The once powerful noble families have been swiftly dealt with, their lives extinguished without mercy. By this time, Sybelle had completed her voyage to the Wall, carrying the male children of the noble families I had mercifully spared into the custody of the Night Watch.

It seems that Sybelle, after speaking to several slaves, embarked on a detour on her way back to the infamous Isle of Whips. This small, desolate island in the treacherous Jade Sea, shrouded in isolation and infamy, served as a despicable hub for slavers, a place where humanity's darkest deeds thrived.

Undeterred by the island's harrowing reputation, Sybelle, accompanied by the mighty N.R.N. The Hungry Wolf, a formidable force of 250 soldiers and 70 vengeance seeking freed slaves, descended upon the Isle of Whips like a relentless storm. With a calculated strategy, she unleashed a relentless bombardment upon the island from the skies, raining down magically powered cannon fire that shook the very foundations of this wretched place. The deafening roar of destruction echoed through the air, leaving no doubt that retribution was imminent.

But Sybelle's intentions did not end with the destruction alone. No, she sought retribution for the countless lives torn apart by these slavers' malevolence. As her troops stormed the shores, she ensured that not a single slaver escaped her wrath. Each and every one of them met their rightful fate, crucified for their sins against humanity, a grim testament to the justice that had finally caught up with them.

And before leaving the islands, Sybelle ordered the decapitation of these vile slavers, their heads severed from their crucified bodies. A grim reminder of the consequences that awaited those who dared to propagate such abhorrent acts. Their heads, impaled on spikes, lined the shore, a chilling spectacle to all who dared to set foot upon this forsaken land.

But Sybelle's mission extended beyond the eradication of evil; she sought to bring hope to those who had suffered at the hands of these slavers. Gathering the liberated slaves and the treasures that had been hoarded away, she set sail back to Qarth.

I have established a court system, one that reeks of retribution and vengeance. Handpicking the most intelligent among the slave population, those who harbor deep-seated resentment, I have tasked them to administer justice. Under the watchful eyes of my loyal soldiers, they preside over the trials, slaves now judging their former Masters. For those who were once free citizens of Qarth, their doom is sealed. Guilty verdicts rain down upon them like a storm, their lives snuffed out without a second thought.

I held all the ships in the harbor captive, their crews trapped without freedom as my men searched their vessels. Any books, maps or papers discovered were swiftly confiscated. Interrogations of the crew began, as I had my men demand answers, eager to uncover the identities and origins of these individuals. Every detail, every piece of information was diligently documented.

However, those who admitted affiliation with cities that shamelessly condoned slavery faced a fate far more severe than mere imprisonment. They were thrust into the unforgiving embrace of the newly formed courts to receive justice. The former slaves would listen to these men and women argue there in case they were almost always found guilty followed by immediate execution. Their ships are now mine. Their ill-gotten gains, their treasures, all confiscated in the name of justice. No trace of their ill deeds would remain, for their wealth would be redistributed to my men as a reward.

000

I surveyed the reports, my eyes scanning each word with an intensity. The conquest of Qarth had been no small feat, and now it was time to assess the aftermath, to understand the true extent of the situation.

The report outlined the strategic importance of Qarth, the key trade routes it controlled, and the vast wealth that had once flowed through its gates. Now, that wealth would be my to claim, my coffers swelling with riches beyond imagination.

But this conquest was not merely about saving Lyanna or about material gain. It was about establishing dominance, wielding power, and leaving an indelible mark on the annals of history. I will be the first Stark in history to conquer and hold territory outside of Westeros. The only one who was close to achieve what I have, would be Theon Stark. I clenched my fist, relishing the taste of victory on my tongue. Qarth will be a symbol, a symbol of my strength, my ambition.

But the reports also spoke of a city in need of healing, of a populace longing for stability and order. It was time for me to restrain the courts. By now, most of the free population of Qarth has been judged and executed. I could not allow chaos to reign unchecked, for a conqueror is also a ruler. I would rebuild Qarth, not as a mere conqueror, but as a benevolent leader, bringing prosperity and unity

The city would flourish under my rule, its people finding solace in the newfound peace that would wash over them like a gentle tide. My iron grip would be tempered with compassion, my authority wielded with fairness. Qarth would become a shining beacon of hope, a testament of a once a slave city becoming a harbor for free slaves.

My chamber door swung open and standing there was Morin, one of my new guards, his posture rigid and his eyes focused. "Sir, it's almost noon," he stated firmly, reminding me of the lunch plans I had made with my sister. His words pierced through the fog of exhaustion that had clouded my mind.

I let out a tired sigh, rubbing my weary eyes and setting aside the report on the ongoing chaos that had consumed my attention. I straightened my posture and met Morin's gaze. "Thank you, Morin," I replied, my voice steady. "I will not keep Sybelle waiting any longer.

As we made our way towards the grand dining hall, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for Morin. To see a son of a tinker rise through the ranks and join the legion was a testament to the new social programs I had established. It reminded me that in my kingdom, a man was not confined to birthright, but I can change his destiny, through determination and resolve. I admit that there are limits to how far a commoner can rise. But in all the kingdoms my commoners were given more opportunities to be able to elevate themselves.

As I was walking down the corridor I couldn't help but notice that Sybelle's flying ship, the Jayne was hovering over the courtyard. I remembered how we had spent days and months going over that ship, adding and subtracting carvings on it's hull until it was able to lift off the ground. I had given the ship to Sybelle, since it had all of her experimental runic-arrays. From what I understand, she was going to keep it as a trophy in her castle. She asked if she can take one of my spanish galleon styled ships, to create her own flying ship.

As I entered the dining area I heard Sybelle arguing with Olly. "What is going on here?" I asked. Sybelle turned towards me, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "Brother, Olly has taken my Jayne without my permission! He's been meddling with the ship, risking its integrity!"

Olly, standing defiantly, crossed his arms and shrugged nonchalantly. "Come on, Sybelle, it's just a little joyride. I didn't damage anything."

It seems Olly after greeting me at Westford went to visit one of his paramours and was not there when we left for Qarth. And so the moron went to Castle Amber and stole Sybelle's ship. It took him nearly six days to fly from Amber to Qarth.

Sybelle's fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "Just a joyride? You dare to underestimate the importance of my Jayne? It is not a mere plaything, Olly! It contains my most valuable experiments, our collective knowledge!"

Sybelle's voice quivered with a mix of anger and hurt. "You know how much that ship means to me, Olly. I had dreamed of flying all my life, and that ship holds the keys of all my hard work. It was also named after my mother. It holds sentimental value that you clearly don't understand." Olly's face contorted with frustration.

Sybelle's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice barely a whisper. "I have put my heart and soul into that ship." "It was not meant to fly this distance, and could have sunk into the sea or had a malfunction during your journey." To see it disrespected like this... it hurts me deeply, Olly."

I could tell Olly was about to make a smart comment to argue some more. My gaze hardened, my tone cutting like a blade. "Enough. Olly."

Olly's defiance faded, replaced by a flicker of remorse. He nodded silently, realizing the gravity of his actions. "Fine," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation. "but don't expect me to apologize for wanting to test its limits."

I glared at him, my voice dripping with warning. "You will apologize, Olly. And you will understand the consequences of your actions. The Jayne is not a plaything, nor is it meant for your personal enjoyment . Silence hung heavily in the air as Olly nodded, his eyes downcast. I invited Olly to have lunch with us, but he decided to go and seek out Uncle Benjen.

000

As I sat down at the table, my mind filled with anticipation. The House of the Undying was a treacherous place, filled with dark magic and unpredictable dangers. But with Sybelle's potions and enchanted medallions, we were arming ourselves with the tools necessary to conquer any obstacle that stood in our way.

As Sybelle took her seat across from me, her eyes gleamed with the same fierce determination that burned within me. We were siblings, bound not only by blood but by a shared thirst for power and the desire to bring our order to the chaotic world.

"Sybelle," I began. "Our raid on the House of the Undying must be flawlessly executed. We cannot afford any missteps, Brandon's life depends on our success." She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I understand, brother. The potions I have brewed will grant us clarity of vision, enabling us to see through the illusions that the House will undoubtedly throw at us. And the enchanted medallions will safeguard our minds from any attempts at manipulation."

I leaned forward, my voice lowering to a confident yet intense whisper. "But we must remember, Sybelle, that power resides within the House of the Undying. It may hold a key to our own overall plans, we need to make sure we secretly secure the secrets of the warlocks."

The weight of our situation settled upon us, but we welcomed it. We were born to lead, born to conquer, and born to shape the world to our liking. The House of the Undying was just another stepping stone on our path to greatness. As we finished our lunch, we exchanged a silent understanding. Our preparations were complete, and the time had come to embark on our mission.

With the sun high overhead, we embarked on our perilous journey, our resolve fortified by the power of the magical medallions and potions. Uncle Benjen insisted on joining our ranks. I acquiesced, arming him with a medallion and potion, while sternly commanding Ned to remain behind and maintain order in our forces. Uncle Ned, with a concerned furrow in his brow, was about to speak up but I interrupted him.

Fear not, Uncle Ned," I said, as I firmly gripped his shoulder. "They have dared to harm one who shares our blood." My eyes burned, ready to unleash a storm of retribution upon those foolish enough to cross me. " I will teach them a lesson, a lesson that will resonate throughout the world, reminding all of what befalls those who dare to challenge our family.

As Sybelle and I led my thirty elite soldiers towards the foreboding House of the Undying, our hearts pounded in unison, a symphony of unwavering purpose. With every step we took, the air grew heavy with anticipation, to conquer this ancient fortress.

The potions we consumed possessed an extraordinary power, bestowing upon our very eyes the gift of piercing through the veil of deception and deceit. every illusion cast upon us was but a feeble haze, instantly discernible amidst the clarity of a reality.

To further fortify our defenses, we adorned ourselves with masks, meticulously crafted to safeguard our senses from any noxious fumes or airborne concoctions that may have been deployed against us.

Yet, contrary to Daenerys' experience, there were no labyrinthine passages, our journey was not one of grandeur and confusion. There were no multiple versions of chambers to navigate through, no convoluted puzzles to unravel.

Instead, we went down steps through a door carved into the floor. Once at the bottom of the steps, we came upon a spiraling staircase. The air grew colder, and a sense of foreboding surrounded us. Unsure of which direction to take, we stood there, contemplating our options.

Taking an obsidian stone out of my pocket, I tapped into my magical abilities and transfigured it into a solid wall that blocked the passage leading out of the tower. With a determined look, I turned to Sybelle, who gestured towards the stairs that would lead us to the top of the tower.

As we ascended the steps to the towers, the absence of windows to the outside created an eerie atmosphere. With each floor we reached, we halted our steps to meticulously search the chambers for any trace of the warlocks. The silence was deafening, and our hearts raced with anticipation. Yet, to my annoyance, we found no signs of their presence on any of the floors below. It was when we ventured towards the top floors, that we stumbled upon strange, living quarters.

In the dimly lit room, eerie and foreboding, stood beds with cold, stone tables encircling them. The air was heavy with an unsettling aura, as if the very walls whispered secrets of ancient rituals. On the tables, instruments of the macabre lay scattered – vials filled with unknown substances, blades glistening ominously in the dim light. Traces of the past lingered, stains of blood marking the floor and besmirching the once pristine beds and tables. The old blood, now blackened with time, added to the morbid ambiance, its bold tone a grim reminder of the dark deeds that had taken place within these walls.

Decided to return later to this room to search it more thoroughly, we couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. We made our way back down the spiral steps, carefully retracing our steps to the bottom passage where we initially entered the tower. The dimly lit corridor seemed even more ominous now, casting elongated shadows that danced along the cold stone walls. Finally, we reached the entrance to the underground, where the spiral steps continued their descent into the unknown depths.

Descending further into the depths of the tower, our hearts pounding with both determination, we finally arrived at the first chamber. As we entered, the warlocks, their eyes filled with bewilderment, stared at us in disbelief. It was apparent that they had anticipated that we would succumb to the hallucinatory horrors that awaited us. Without hesitation, I threw an obsidian aligned steel blade, launching it into the skull of one of the warlocks. I then unsheathed my valyrian blade, its glinting edge reflecting off the torches. Swiftly, I sliced through their ranks, severing the first two bodies from shoulder to navel, leaving a trail of crimson in my wake. Meanwhile, my sister, a force to be reckoned with, swiftly dispatched another warlock, her spear impaling his throat before her blade unleashed a swift decapitation.

At the bottom chamber, a chilling sight awaited us - four of the remaining warlocks, caught off guard by our sudden arrival. Their astonishment mirrored that of their companions upstairs. My eyes were drawn to a small boy lying on a slab, his body oozing blood. A warlock stood beside him, meticulously cutting into the chest of what appeared to be a silver-haired little girl. Nearby, another warlock worked on a black-haired young man, his arms sliced open, blood steadily pooling into a bowl. In the corner, the last warlock poured a mysterious concoction down the throat of an older lady, her eyes clouded over with fear.

This time, the atmosphere crackled with tension as my sister took swift action, her spear held tightly in her grip. With an expert aim, she hurled it towards the warlock who stood menacingly near the young man with black hair, impaling him with a satisfying thud. Without missing a beat, she drew her dagger and, with a fierce determination in her eyes, launched it at the warlock who was busily pouring a mysterious concoction down the woman's throat after it, made a landing on his arm and chest, causing him to drop the vile she fearlessly charged at him.

The warlock next to the silver haired girl turned towards us, his hands poised for a spell. In a calculated move, I flung my dagger I had recovered from the skull of a warlock upstairs. It sliced through the warlock's hand, causing a crimson gush before embedding itself firmly in his shoulder.

While I rushed at the warlock, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I threw up my hands, ready to intercept any spells that he might unleash if he regained his concentration. I swiftly maneuvered to stand next to him, in one fluid motion, I swung the pommel of my sword, connecting with a resounding thud against his skull. The force of the blow momentarily stunned him before I punch to the face, not him out, completely. By then men had burst through the doorway and joined the fray. Together, we descended upon the last warlock, our collective might overwhelming his feeble attempts to resist. my men subdued him, skillfully binding his hands to prevent any further mischief. And just as he began to regain his senses, a final strike to the head rendered him unconscious.

After securing the warlock, my heart pounding with adrenaline, I hurried over to where the young black-haired youth lay. His pale complexion contrasted starkly against the dark blood that stained his arms. Drawing upon my magic, I channeled my energy to heal his wounds and stop the bleeding. As I gazed upon his face, a flicker of familiarity caught my eye - a hint of Lyanna and the stark in him. A surge of fury coursed through me, not only directed at the warlocks who had done this, but also towards Lyanna for allowing such a tragedy to unfold. If only she had not run away, Brandon could have lived a safe and happy life in the North, surrounded by his kin.

Sybelle, a skilled and determined healer, immediately immediately rushed to the silver hair boy on the slab. When she realized his tragic fate with a heavy heart she turned away from his corpse. she turned towards the little girl, her chest gruesomely opened but still clinging to life. Digging through her bag, Sybelle retrieved her potions and vials. She began chanting, as she carefully placed runic carved stones around the child. Utilizing her powerful magic and potent potions, she skillfully closed the child's chest, allowing the healing energy to course through her. Sybelle's eyes glistened with tears as she mustered a watery smile as she looked at me, whispering, "I think she will make it. She's in a coma now"

After ensuring the girl's safety, Sybelle turned her attention to the woman who had been chained to the wall. She assisted our troops in freeing the woman, who had been subjected to a substance poured into her mouth by the warlocks. Sybelle carefully inspected the vial, realizing the need for further examination in her laboratory to fully understand its properties. She entrusted one of the men with the task of securing it.